Blunt and Bold

It’s kind of funny.

I’m about twenty pages into writing this love story, the story of me and Santa, and I haven’t even made it through the second night.  As I remember things, moments, I just smile, let the memory flow, and add that train of thought to the rest.  It’s a bit rambling, much as my usual style is.

I went digging around for our text message threads to one another.  We changed phone carriers back in 2020, and my phone got traded in.  I backed it all up, but for some reason, I’ve only got messages from him going back to October of that year.

I mourned those lost years of messages.  So many small memories, moments of laughter, moments of intimacy, flirting, just love.  And they were wiped out with the click of a company button.  Gone.

I searched my backups, my hard drive, his iphone backup, but I was afraid to try to run an update, because what if I lost even more data?  The ipad he’d had when I met him had gone missing back in December, so that wasn’t an option, either.

Except myLove stumbled across the tablet the other day.  As I breathed a sigh of relief, I plugged it in to charge back up so it could power on.  Once I could access the messages, I started scrolling backwards in our conversation.  After each screen loaded, I held my breath, hoping for more.  All of the loading drained the battery as I was charging it, and it powered down again.

Frustratingly, I couldn’t get much past the messages that marked the last of what was stored on my phone.  I finally found a software download that let me pull text messages, so I followed the instructions and backed up the tablet then created a pdf out of our message thread.

I tried not to weep with relief when I realized that the first of the messages were dated nine days after we’d met.  It was everything except the conversation we’d had when (as I teasingly liked to say) he’d given me a fake number.  It was an app that generated a phone number, and while we hadn’t used it to exchange any calls, we had texted one another quite a bit for that first nine days.

But even missing those early messages, I had all of those memories back at my fingertips.  I smiled to myself and started at the “beginning.”

I didn’t remember how blunt I’d been early on.  Perhaps it was being at the end of a relationship and knowing exactly what I didn’t want.  Perhaps it was finally deciding to just be 100% honest about who I am.  If someone didn’t care for it, didn’t – doesn’t care for me as I am, then why would I invest the time into a relationship with them?  So many times in my life I’ve hidden aspects of myself trying to be loved or accepted, except that by doing that, I wasn’t seeking acceptance for who I actually am.  Was.  Whatever.  I was seeking acceptance for a version of myself that didn’t really exist.

I don’t think it was ever a conscious decision.  I just played my cards as they came to my hand.  I was honest.  Open.  Blunt, even.  I laughed to read how blunt I was.  I have to hope it was a breath of fresh air for him.  Our interactions certainly were for me.  I was terrified sharing my results with him.  What if he laughed?  What if he judged me?

Santa:  If you want to be yourself, you need to know yourself.
Me:  Fair.
Santa:  I took mine a while ago, so they changed a couple terms, but the numbers are still relevant.  And you can see that our areas match up pretty well.
Me:  I did notice that.
S:  So, how do you feel about your results now in the context of mine?
Me:  Still a little vulnerable. A bit relieved at the same time.
S:  And like you noted with yours, some areas require context.
Me:  I certainly understand how that quiz is hardly going to measure with complete accuracy every feeling about a complex subject, particularly when presented in percentages.
S:  Yup.  But it’s a starting point
Me:  Why were my percentages so much higher than yours?
S:  You were more polarized on your responses.  Though, I think I have a more recent test that is more polarized too.  I don’t think I saved it though.
Me:  Sending you that picture made me feel more naked in front of you than anything else I can think of.
S:  Did that bother you?
Me:  It scared me a little
Me:  A lot.  No lies.
S:  Why do you think that is?
Me:  Because I really like you and I’m afraid of rejection.
Me:  And maybe because somewhere along the way I decided what I like in bed is something I should be ashamed of.
S:  I think that is an accurate statement.
S:  And you shouldn’t feel that way about. Nor should you be afraid to experience it in a safe  way.
Me:  Its scary.
Santa:  It is.

Who talks like that?  I mean, I think we absolutely should talk to each other openly and honestly that way, but even reading it back now, it just feels so ballsy and frank.  Had I stopped to be worried about things working out with him, I don’t think I could have said half of that.  Or half of the stuff I said in conversations that followed.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am exceedingly grateful for whatever it was inside my head that helped me let go of my inhibitions and just talk.  Somehow, I accidentally set the foundation for what became the most open and honest relationship I’d had to that point, and the blueprint for future successful relationships, such as the one myLove and I have built.

It takes someone incredible to break through almost forty years of ingrained communication habits that way, and every day we had together was undeniably a blessing.

I love you, Daddy.  I know you’re proud of the person I’ve become.  I hope to continue to make you proud of the person I continue to grow into as I walk this world, attempting to honor you.

Two Truths & a Lie

“If you could only ask him one question, what would it be?”

The parry shouldn’t have been a surprise. In fact, I should have seen it coming. However, being that the best defense is often a good offense, I had to give my therapist props on hers. Startled, my first response was a knee-jerk one, a bit snarky and a lot of “I told you so,” for being right about the one thing I never wanted to be right about.

The second was more emotionally honest. It concerned a thing I’d stumbled across when dealing with the business of surviving: passwords and accounts, autodrafts and permissions. I hadn’t had to look, though, and I’d known better, but perhaps bunnies are enough like cats that their curiosity gets them both into trouble.

In truth, though it was true, it was still bullshit. I’d laid that matter to rest after a day of pondering. While I would have loved to have had that conversation with him, it was old news. Stuff that came before I met him was stuff when we were both very different people. I wasn’t the only one who changed and grew during the course of our relationship. I had to remind myself to give him space in my mind from those early days to be that more guarded person he was then. It changed nothing about our journey.

I didn’t tell her thinking I was deliberately spewing bullshit, of course. What’s the point of therapy if one is purposely less than honest?

Five am came, though, and with it, the clarity only five am can bring.

There is only one question that truly matters enough to me to justify disturbing the dead. It is one I almost don’t want the answer to, because like the others, I already feel like I know it without the querying and response.

However, if I’m honestly answering that first question with earnest truth, I know now what my response would be.

“Was there anything I could have done differently to save you?”

Yet even if I could ask, I would hesitate, I suspect. Whatever the answer is, whatever that truth is, there is no absolution there, no time machine to be had. If the response came in the affirmative, I’d have to live knowing for sure that I failed him in my ultimate test of service, that I was to blame for not doing better, being better. That’s a heavy burden to carry. If the answer came in the negative, I’d have to give up the illusion that I’d had any control over the outcome of the most vital moments in my life to date, a thing most humanity is loathe to sacrifice. And I’d have to live with that knowing, either way.

In truth, only damnation lies in some resolutions. Perhaps the first lie was really the only logical response, after all.

Five am can suck it.

Your Teeth

As I shower, my mind drifts, settling into the quiet and the rhythm of soapings past. First shampoo the hair, then rinse. Condition the hair, and while it soaks in, wash everything else. No more shaving, because laser, but that used to fall into the next place. Rinse the hair, turn off the water, then dry off and brush my hair. Deodorant and clothes, and I’m done. Sometimes when I’m not in a hurry, the bit after rinsing the hair is turning up the heat so the water pounds into my shoulders and neck, obliterating rational thought. When I’ve obtained sufficient heat, which he always called “Devil licking your back” hot, sufficient freedom from words and active thought as to recharge a spoon or two, I resume my routine with turning off the water.

Every shower blends together with the others, identical in routine. The only changes were the days when I shared that space or time with another. Those are the moments that peek above the droning regularity of my formerly daily muscle memory.

There is less of that now. Less routine, more aimless staring. More heat, in a desire to feel it. Some days are hot baths and back into bed, trying to accomplish what I can via the digital realms, the comfort of covers, weight, and warmth pinning me to this earthly plane. Those are the days when the bare minimum is a struggle, and there are more of them than I’d like, even on the meds they gave me before Christmas.

But the water helps. Something about the heat and the pounding sensation makes the world feel as if it has snapped back to reality for a time and out of the dream world I’m certain I’ll wake from at any moment.

The water pounds down, and I think of your teeth. I’m terrified I’ll forget the small moments, and I slow the mem0ry down to each infinitesimal change.

You turn at the sound of my voice, your desk chair carrying you around. Your face lights up to see me topless, the love in your eyes visible to anyone else in the room, had we not been alone.

Without a word, you reach out one hand for me. Obediently, for what am I without obedience, I step forward to meet that hand.

Your outstretched arm enfolds me, wrapping around my waist and making me feel tiny. Your other arm joins it, and you pull me close, cradling me to you reverently. “Why are you so leeeeetle?” you ask, in a lovingly playful voice. It is a regular teasing question between us, as we are separated by ten inches in height and you can hold your own elbows and still have your arms around me.

No one else has ever made me feel both so small and so cherished.

Your deep blue eyes noticeably shift from joyful and welcoming to hot and lustful. A half smile tugs at your lips. It is a cross between smug and evil, and everything in me thrills at that expression.

I replay that moment in my head several times. I have never failed to respond to watching that shift, no matter how often I’ve seen it. It is the look you get in your eyes right before you slap my face and pull my hair, and the look you get in your eyes when you call me Yours. It is unmistakable, and hasn’t dimmed an iota from the day we met. That look is sex, desire, hunger, and need. It is your primal coyote come to the surface, ready to sink ravenous teeth into the innocent bunny at your feet.

No one has ever looked at me with that passionate, fiery glow that you have, and made me feel so wanted.

You look at me as if you need me. Viscerally.

I watch wide-eyed as you strike, almost so fast I can’t see the movement. Teeth are closed on the inner curve of my breast. Your open eyes glow for a moment, an even deeper blue, sparkling with your sadism. I look down into them and they gaze hungrily right into mine, bold in their gaze, daring me to look away.

My breath quickens as your teeth press even more tightly into my flesh. You can see the pain begin to cross my face, and your arms hold me to you. I’ve compared your bite to a dog’s before – squeezing teeth, then clamping down until my body goes limp.

At the relaxing of my carried tension, the teeth ease up momentarily, then clamp back down even harder. My knees sway slightly, and your hold keeps me upright. If you bothered to check, you’d find me slickly wet and ready, but this is just a mid-morning snack, a whetting of your sadistic appetites, rather than foreplay.

I can feel each tooth pressed into my skin, your jaw almost closed with my breast firmly between your teeth. I can feel the edge of your chipped front tooth, now smoother than when the dental work had loosened while we were dating, sanded by years of biting into my flesh. eyeYours are still locked on mine, and your grip on me loosens as your teeth do.

I press my body to yours, wrapping my arms around your neck. I bury my nose in your neck, inhaling your unique scent, gain mixed with pheromones, with accents of vanilla and peppermint in your beard. Breathing it in, I pause the reel in my head to luxuriate in your smell. You turn your chair back to your work as I release you, a smile on your face. I know you’re still watching, so I put a little extra swing in my hips as I head back to the bedroom to get dressed.

I spin the knob, no more cold water even mixing with the heat, feeling the fire rain down on me. It’s no substitute for feeling your hungry passion, your huge hands on me, in my hair, your mouth giving pain and pleasure in equal measure.

If I get it hot enough, I can thaw the coldness inside of me.

I turn off the water, dry off and brush my hair. Deodorant and clothes, and I’m done.

Climbing back into the bed, I nestle my arms around mylove, your angel. I press my face into her breasts, meet her gaze with mine, and sink my teeth into the inside curve of her breast, listening for the sounds she makes.

For you.

Why Relationship Conflict Can Bring (Me) Extra Relief

We are creatures of habit.  At least I am, anyhow.  I don’t want to assume for anyone else, so let’s just call that the royal We.

My last major relationship had habits in its conflict.  He would sulk in silence, I would ask what was wrong, and he would tell me he was fine.

I fucking loathe that word, by the way.  I think fine should be stricken from the English language, and anyone who uses it regularly to describe their feelings should be gifted the link to

But I digress.  I usually responded that he seemed quiet and not at all fine (the loathesome word), asked again what was wrong, then gave up and just avoided him.  If we actually had a conversation about an issue, it often ended with him asking me to give him specific examples of things that were bothering me, which I inevitably never could.

(For those who don’t know, I’m one of the people who process agitation and irritation by not storing those events in long term memory, so I don’t ever remember exactly what I was upset about, just the generalities.  Thus asking me for specific notations of a behavior which upsets me is a knowingly dickish and gaslighty move from partners when directed at me.)

As one might expect with that lack of a working model for conflict resolution, the relationship ended, not with a bang, but with a whimper, and not the kind I’d prefer to be making.

I recently (within the past year) started dating someone new, and found myself telling my therapist I was looking forward to conflict.  Yes, I know that’s an odd thing to want.  No, I wasn’t willing to manufacture some.

Why, then, would I possibly look forward to a conflict?

Because people can talk big game about their communication skills all day long, but until I see them in action during a time of emotional distress or conflict, I don’t really know what that will look like with that person.  I have had friendships and romances fall apart at the first real conflict, for a variety of reasons.  Perhaps someone’s go-to was denial, deflection, or even gaslighting to avoid taking personal responsibility for their part in an issue.  Perhaps they showed me that when the chips were down, they wouldn’t choose me.  Perhaps instead of waiting until they could set aside the rush of emotion that comes with a conflict, they gave themselves permission to loose their temper upon me.

Regardless, I have a whole laundry list of deal-breakers in the conflict response category.  In each case I have encountered one, no matter what the person’s mouth said in advance about their “super awesome communication,” I had to experience their response in order to decide if it was one I could live with.

So I quietly looked forward to the conflicts which potentially signaled the end of NRE.  I longed for proof that I was wisely investing before allowing myself to love whole-heartedly.  Having been burned too many times before, I needed the comfort that healthy conflict resolution would bring me in the relationship.

When conflict came, it brought with it a wash of peace.  We’d agreed on our ouline:

Step one:  step away from the loaded feelings.

Step two:  process, process, process.

Step three:  discuss.

By both of us following through with that agreement, not only have we formed the trail which will eventually grow into the road we take whenever conflict arises in the future, we have also given one another the comfort of trusting the other at our word, and that we won’t allow stray emotion to overcome our reason.

It really was a massive relief to finally have that disagreement.

In Which Anger is Completely Unproductive at 1:28 am

It’s so much easier to stay angry when the fuel for the fire is righteous indignation.  It almost becomes a holy mission:  I must avenge the wrongs done to me with the wrath of fuck you.

Not that stoking that flame all night is particularly useful.  It definitely doesn’t lend itself to sleeping.

But, you see, I really am right this time.  It happens so rarely, I honestly didn’t think I would recognize it if it showed up, yet here it is, burning in my chest three hours after I tried to lie down to sleep.

It was the order of operations that sealed the deal, I think.  Had we done things as we usually do, I suspect I’d have come to my usual conclusion that I was wrong and he was right.  However, he broke the mold this time.  Punishment came first, without warning.  No discussion happened, no pointing out the continuous error of my ways, instead it was just a slap in the face.

I wasn’t ready to talk, with the fury rising up in me.  I’d already been upset, but his overbearing approach coaxed the flame higher and gave it new direction.

I’d thought to take some time to cool off, but a text came asking if I planned to come back downstairs, and I responded that I wasn’t certain.  That was when the second rule of engagement was shredded.  Rather than giving me space to calm down so neither of us said things we might regret, he chased me upstairs and proceeded to stuff his own anger down my throat.

I finally just stared at the wall, limp, just wanting the indignation of feeling bullied, punished, then lectured repeatedly about how wrong I was to end sooner rather than later.  He finally saw the defeat in me, stopped hammering his point home, and quietly walked back downstairs.  I think he figured out I wasn’t coming back down at that point.

But then all I could do was stew.  My brain yelled at him since my mouth couldn’t.  “That’s not how we resolve things!  Clearly my feelings are unimportant, but yours must be the things that matter!”  And finally, “Is this how being with your parents is going to be?  Do I have to put the meek submissive persona back on when they’re around so we can get through these visits with my trust in our method intact?”

And to myself:  Is it intact?

This is the second year in a row near Christmas, while trapped in a house with his parents, that we’ve come upon an issue which created a conflict that he allowed his emotions to lead the way in “resolving,” which as we’ve all learned, is never an actual resolution, but instead a breeding ground for uncertainty, mistrust, and an issue that will pay it forward.

Is it the holiday?  The added stress of additional people in a house with us?  Me?  Am I more difficult when they’re around?

Fuck.  Who said anger is a productive emotion again?  Remind me to give her my thoughts on Monday.

Watching Others Struggle

It’s like they automatically sense it somehow – that former bartender in me.  People just find themselves sharing personal information that I really didn’t ask for.

It used to surprise me when someone vomited their heart out to me, all of the sudden.  Not so much anymore.  It isn’t that I expect it, really, I’m just not surprised when it happens.

The difficult line for me to walk is how to respond.  My first inclination is to fix everything for them, if I can.  I’m not sure if it’s the only shred of maternal instinct I managed to cough up, or if it’s empathy for their plight, and that little voice in the back of my head wishing I’d had someone to just wave their magic wand and get everything back on track.  Perhaps that’s my attraction to Harry Potter, the Magicians, the works of Robert Jordan and Mercedes Lackey.  Ordinary humans with the ability to just fucking fix stuff.

What is Aftercare?

As more and more new people join the Kink Community on the edges and middle of the pandemic, the more I realize how little knowledge some are stepping into this world with.  I recently wrote about pain processing in kink.  Today, I want to briefly discuss the aftermath of a scene.

When we say the word scene, generally we are talking about an agreed-upon period of time between two or more people, wherein they perform some negotiated kink experience.  It may be impact, it may be needles, or humiliation, or any one of a number of kinks that people share.

As I discussed in my post on pain, the body of the receiver in this event is likely experiencing some chemical side effects, brought to them courtesy of their brain.  Adrenaline and endorphins are a potent cocktail.  When the activities we engage in trigger those chemical responses, it can be a heady experience.  Often, the person who has experienced them will be slightly euphoric or “spacey” afterwards.  Some people refer to “subspace,” but I prefer more scientific explanations of what is happening.

Because that can be a sensation that feels different for different people, some find it disorienting.  Others feel “loopy” or giggly.  Some will need to come out of that headspace gradually, while others prefer a more abrupt return to reality.  The period of time after the scene has ended is often called aftercare.

Aftercare looks different based on who you ask.  Some people want a blanket and cuddles, some want a stuffie and chocolate.   I want a high five and to be told I was a good girl.  Some take an hour to gradually ease out of that headspace, others want to giggle away in a group of friends.  In some cases, people may prefer that aftercare be administered by someone they didn’t scene with, such as a friend or relationship partner.  It is important to include negotiations for the kind of aftercare you need when you are discussing a scene with a potential partner.

If you don’t know what you need for aftercare because you are newer to this, it may be a part of your journey which requires experimentation.  Ask yourself following a scene what would bring you comfort.  Prepare for many scenarios, such as bringing a favorite comfortable item of clothing to change into, an emotional attachment object, a protein bar, or a sugary snack you enjoy in order to give yourself options when the time comes.

If you are a more experienced kinkster and know that you’ll be having a scene with less experienced players, perhaps consider packing an emergency aftercare bag with some basics in it, in case it is something they aren’t familiar with, or don’t know yet what they need.  It isn’t a terrible idea to have things on hand that help others.  That’s part of why I always carry a mini first aid kit with me to the dungeon, despite it having three available.  My band-aids are cuter.

Please remember, even though there are tops who will hand you off to someone else for aftercare because it isn’t their thing, the important part is finding healthy ways to transition yourself back to life as the chemicals leave the body – and keep these things in mind for the possible drop following after the chemicals break down even further.   What you need is what you need during this process.

Knowledge is power, and by understanding what we need on our kink journeys, we give ourselves an amazing gift.

How Things Work: Pain Processing in Kink

As some of you who follow me may have noticed, I recently added two rib tattoos to the markings Santa has gifted me.

They really fucking hurt, by the way.

Interestingly enough, through my conversations with the tattoo artist and subsequent research on tattooing, I learned a lot about my own pain management that was new information.  While I already knew some of this, learning the rest has been a great stepping stone to help me build a more effective pain management routine for days when Santa and I have heavy impact planned.

Some know this one already because I’ve mentioned it or because they have experienced it:  **pain can be more intense during certain portions of the menstrual cycle**.  For many it is during the actual menstruation while for others it is during ovulation.  Those hormonal changes can make pain less easily tolerated.  For those who may be unaware of this fluxuation, it can be a surprise when they suddenly have difficulty with an experience, not realizing the hormonal factor can be a huge variance.

**Sleep matters**.  There are times an extended impact session (or other painful experience) can be about relaxing and focusing on an area of the body that is not experiencing pain.  Those techniques are easier to employ when well rested.  As for the focus one, the best way I know to describe it is an almost meditative focus on a comfortable body part.  I will rub my two largest toes together on the foot with the permanent toe ring.  It is a unique sensation and it can help to stop focusing on the part of my body that is hurting.

**Stay hydrated**.  Hydrated skin tends to be more resilient, and isn’t as easily irritated.  Things like needles or other tools can create redness and skin irritation, and hydrated skin will generally be able to tolerare those things for longer.

**Eat a good meal**.  I have been guilty of forgetting to eat prior to a scene, and I know some people who don’t eat anything hearty beforehand because they are concerned about appearing bloated or full.  It turns out that not eating is terrible for pain tolerance.  We get endorphin kicks and adrenaline rushes when we dance with pain. Those chemicals use sugars in the blood as fuel.  Without having a reserve, such as carbs or even eating fruit before a scene, the resulting body response can be feeling shaky or weak after handling pain, and subsequent pain will just fucking hurt, because the adrenaline has run out of food to eat.  That will definitely cut a scene short.

**Avoid alcohol.**  While, sure, there are impaired consent issues here, from a purely practical standpoint, alcohol can increase the body’s sensitivity to pain.  It can also dampen mental acuity and make it more difficult to process the sensations being experienced without becoming overwhelmed or upset.

**Use calming breathing techniques or breathing for meditation.**  Women have used breathing in childbirth to withstand pain, and similar techniques can help in kink experiences.

**Relax, for goodness’ sake.**   How many times have we heard that tensing a muscle makes pain more intense?  Work on isolation techniques such as the ones practiced in yoga.  These can be excellent for helping stay in tune with one’s body and remind it to relax.

My routine has changed since ive learned all of this.  Obviously, there are things I can’t change, such as my menstrual cycle.  What I can do is choose whether or not to do impact during that time, or choose implements I know I can handle even then.

When I get up the morning we have plans, I eat cereal.  I make sure to have a snack in the afternoon, and eat steak or other protein before we leave the house.   I also pack an apple or some fruit to eat before our scene, to give me that extra bit of sugar for my body to eat up with endorphins.  I drink water all day, once we arrive, and afterwards, as well.  I find that by using this routine, I don’t tend to crash afterwards or even really experience much in the way of drop.

Obviously, everyone is different in the way they handle pain.  The thing that doesn’t change is the chemistry behind how our bodies work.  The more we understand about ourselves, the better we can be at taking care of our bodies.  The better care we take of them, the longer we will be able to participate in the kink activities we enjoy.  💗

Building Back Up (KW)

Disclaimer: I’m bunny. I write for Kink Weekly every so often. I don’t make any money off of you clicking a link to read my articles, I merely agree not to post this article elsewhere in its entirety, so I provide the link in case you want to read the rest. I hope that by seeing this here, it may reach those who haven’t found KW, or those who may not check it regularly.

For many of us, the past year or so has been a veritable desert in our kink worlds.  Those who had children at home or who live in apartments may have attempted quiet play, if we were in the mood for it, of course, since anxiety isn’t the best aphrodisiac.  Unfortuanately, with many of our kink spaces closing down or choosing to carefuly curate guests lists, there are a lot of people who are finally starting to resume their bdsm play.  I’ve heard a common refrain among them.

Most of the stories are of scenes going poorly, both people expecting to be able to resume their journeys exactly where they left off, only to discover that the top runs low on endurance while the bottom has a much lower tolerance for pain.  Overall, those factors make for an unsatisfactory scene, along with many thoughts and feelings of not being good enough or tough enough to satisfy their partner.  This seems to mostly be the case among more experienced or frequent heavier players that I have spoken to.  Newer or more casual players seem to have had less of an issue in this area.

For those who haven’t experienced this, either count your blessings or consider this a warning in advance.

We build up tolerance over time, or perhaps a desire to experience that endorphin rush pushes us to greater heights, since our bodies become accustomed to anything we do with any regularity, whether it be working out, getting up early, or even receiving pain.  It makes total sense that the amount of impact or other intense play that someone can take at the beginning of their journey changes over time.  That was certainly the case for me.  We had a regular schedule and were meeting it consistently.

Of course, that all changed last March.  Without access to our regular dungeon space, we felt less comfortable pushing some of those boundaries.  Additionally, neither of us was really in the mood for BDSM.  In fact, we were rarely in the mood for sexual intimacy, let alone any sort of pain play.  We were stuck in a house with family members stacked on top of one another, with no real safe place to go, plus dealing with anxiety.  Those are hardly the stuff dreams are made of.

My story isn’t unique.  Many of the friends I have in my local community have expressed similar sentiments.  Their kink play went into hibernation for quite a while during 2020.  Once our local dungeon started opening for private reservations we began attending again, but unless we specifically planned to go in advance and paid for the rental, we would often find reasons to delay.

For those interested in the rest of this article, you can find it in this week’s edition of Kink Weekly.


Be Honest About What You’re Seeking

Lately, I often find myself in a position of being a greeter in the local kink welcoming committee.

No, that doesn’t really exist, but if it did, I’m sure I’d be a member.

The group I tend to spend the majority of my energy on is one where I feel comfortable and safe.  Our goal is usually pain of some kind, or bondage.  Sex isn’t the focus, but it isn’t discouraged in any fashion.  We just mostly have an interest in the hurting, either because we want it, or we want to give it.

This means that group is going to be exactly the correct cup of tea for some people, but a terrible fit for others.  If someone is looking for swinging and orgies, that’s just not what they’re going to find at the dungeon I’m hanging at.

That doesn’t mean we judge those things.  Please, please, please for the love of my last shred of patience, don’t message asking for information on joining a BDSM heavy group when your goal is to get some ass.  I see your 27 photos of your cock either by itself or in someone’s mouth, and all your fetishes that have to do with a sexual act.  Don’t pretend you aren’t looking for sex or swinging or orgies, because everything about you screams that those things are exactly what you’re after.

I’m going to tell you a secret.

I genuinely don’t care what you’re looking for.  My goal is to help direct you to places where you can find what you are seeking.  If you lie or dissemble because you’re ashamed that you’re in it for the ass, maybe you should take a moment and ask yourself why you feel that way.  When I ask what you’re looking for, it’s to help suggest places you can find it, not mock you for your honesty.  I would 100% rather you just led with, “Yeah, I’m looking for orgies and threesomes,” so I don’t have to have an hour and a half conversation with you just to get to the part where you’re honest.

I don’t have that kind of energy to spare.  Plus, you’re going to waste your time on something that wasn’t a good fit, because it was exactly the opposite of what you’re seeking.

Let’s break it down, because kink is a pretty generic term.

There are groups that cater to specific fetishes, such as breasts, or feet, or spanking, or [insert fetish here].

There are groups and venues where the goal is sex, or swinging.

There are groups that combine swinging with more pain-focused kinks, that I generally refer to as swink (because swinging + kink = swink).

There are groups that are more BDSM focused, and a play party for those is going to be a very different animal from a play party for swinging or swink.  Please don’t think because you hear the term play party that they are all the same.

Take time to read the rules and goals of the groups you are interested in.  Ask others with similar interests to yours if that group is a good fit, or if they have suggestions for groups that would be a better fit.

Please remember, even when groups have the same general focus, they will often have different atmospheres, based on the leaders and those who have chosen to have membership in that group.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with checking out lots of groups to find the places that fit the best with what you seek.

It’s a journey, not a race, and on this journey, honesty will serve you best.